


Make It Better

by airond (one_hell_of_an_otaku)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Dysphoria, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, in a way i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_hell_of_an_otaku/pseuds/airond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dysphoria never makes a schedule and Ray hates it. Looks like it's Michael to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Better

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so im supposed to write for other stuff but guess what's been bothering me lately. hah, that dysphoria that i've come to love and adore
> 
> but yeah michael and ray are dating in this and sorry if it doesnt seem like that but i wasnt really worried abt that part that much

Ray still isn’t sure what happens in his sleep that suddenly makes him feel like the biggest piece of shit ever. He’ll be fine, cuddling with Michael or streaming with Tina, but the next morning it’s like some unspoken agreement has been decided in his brain and passed through his veins so his body knew what was up. It’s like when he’s asleep his brain tells itself “we’re going to make him feel like shit” and it just happens.

It _just happens_ and Ray hates it.

Ray hates himself.

Because why should he have to be burdened with the body he had? Why couldn’t he just be normal? Probably because some douchebag in his past life did something to piss off whatever deity that controlled the universe and was being punished by having the wrong parts addressed to the right mind.

Okay, maybe not, but he liked to put the blame on someone else. It’s gets really fucking tiring always blaming himself for things he can’t control.

\--

_“Oh honey, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Mrs. Narvaez shook her head. “I’m sure you just have a stomach ache or something.”_

_“You’ll be fine, dear,” Mr. Narvaez had sighed. “You say this every day and yet you still come home feeling better than ever.”_

_“You’re right,” Ray had lied. “I’m sorry. I’ll get ready for school.”_

_“Maybe she’s just unhappy with her figure,” his mom said as he walked to his room to change out of his pajamas. “When I was her age I wished I had a better body, too. More curves, y’know?”_

_“Well whatever it is,” his father replied as he sipped at his coffee, “let’s hope it passes soon. She’s making a big deal out of this and I can’t stand it.”_

_“She’ll learn to love herself soon enough.”_

\--

“Fuck you,” Ray sighed. “Fuck all of you.” He buried his face in his pillow, letting out a string of hums and balling his fists in the case as they grew louder.

“Ray?”

 _Shit._ Ray halted all noises and movements for a minute, hoping that if he didn’t move Michael wouldn’t remember anything and would go back to sleep. It was a lot easier when the Jersey boy was asleep anyways. A lot easier to forget he had spent the night after playing a few rounds of _Mario Kart 8._

“Ray, what are you doing?” Michael asked as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand as the blurry figure seemed to sit up in bed.

“Oh, you know,” Ray shrugged. “Nothing much.”

“Don’t try that bullshit on me, dude,” Michael closed his eyes and opened them a few seconds later, adjusting to the focused sights before him. “You’re always like _ugh, fuck you, fuck that, fuck this,_ whenever you’re thinkin’ about things.”

Ray frowned as he crossed his arms, feeling his breasts press against his forearm as he hugged himself tighter. “Do I really have to explain?”

“Just one of those days?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be right back, then.”

Ray watched as Michael crawled out of bed wearing nothing but a pair of black socks and blue boxers. He wiggled his toes under the comforter as he waited, focusing on a body part that he didn’t really mind. Toes were toes.

Michael came back a few minutes later, holding two large coffee mugs and holding their 3DS’ under his arms. He set the items down on the nightstand before handing a mug to Ray and leaving again only to arrive with an Xbox One and a bunch of cords in his hands.

“What are you doing?” Ray asked.

“What I always do, dude,” Michael shrugged as he plugged things into the TV. “You feel like shit about your body, so we’re gonna not focus on that and hope it helps this time. We’re gonna play some sick games and battle our Pokémon and drink some badass hot chocolate.”

Ray let out a small smile as he smelled the chocolate aroma fill the area around his nose and took a tentative sip, sputtering when his tongue was scalded.

“Your hot chocolate sucks,” he commented as Michael made his way back to the bed with two controllers in hand.

“Well wait for it to cool like a smart person and don’t burn your fucking tastebuds off.” Michael rolled his eyes as he sat back down under the covers, propping up his two pillows to serve as a barrier between his back and the headboard.

“ _I’m Michael and I know everything_ ,” Ray mocked in a bad imitation of the man next to him.

“Just pick a game so we can get you feeling better,” Michael sighed with a small shake of his head.

“No problem.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments are nice  
> find me at airond or freewoodking on tumblr
> 
> also this is the second time ive written abt dysphoria and i just noticed everything is p much the same but i guess thats just how i feel idk


End file.
